


For Want of a Horse...

by BurglarFerret



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurglarFerret/pseuds/BurglarFerret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>+This is me gleefully taking liberties with history.  No, I'm not going to give anybody a tommy gun, but I am ignoring some things.  If you're looking for accuracy, you'll probably have to look elsewhere.<br/>+Story contains an OFC (that's an Original Female Character.) I rather like her, I've been told she's all right, but if OFCs aren't your thing, best turn back now.<br/>+Sexytimes later on.  Warning everybody up front.  However, I will do my best to warn and tag appropriately and I will also try very hard to write in such a manner that anyone who wishes to skip said sexytimes can jump to the next chapter and not be thrown off.<br/>+Not beta'd, so mistakes are mine.<br/>+Don't own any of them.  Pity, that.<br/>+Written for fun and to get the Muses to shut their yaptraps.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> +This is me gleefully taking liberties with history. No, I'm not going to give anybody a tommy gun, but I am ignoring some things. If you're looking for accuracy, you'll probably have to look elsewhere.  
> +Story contains an OFC (that's an Original Female Character.) I rather like her, I've been told she's all right, but if OFCs aren't your thing, best turn back now.  
> +Sexytimes later on. Warning everybody up front. However, I will do my best to warn and tag appropriately and I will also try very hard to write in such a manner that anyone who wishes to skip said sexytimes can jump to the next chapter and not be thrown off.  
> +Not beta'd, so mistakes are mine.  
> +Don't own any of them. Pity, that.  
> +Written for fun and to get the Muses to shut their yaptraps.

Paul Revere was woken out of a sound sleep by loud, insistent hammering on his door. He had arrived back home in Boston earlier that morning, tired from his long task of taking news of the tea incident to New York and Philadelphia. He'd taken care of a few pressing errands, taken a bath and then turned in early. Now, with the thumping at his door indicating the possibility of Redcoats paying him a visit, he got up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in and grabbed the loaded pistol he always kept close at hand. Ignoring the cold floor on his bare feet, he padded over to the door and cast a quick glance through the peephole. Not a Redcoat, but not someone he recognized right away either. Keeping the pistol out of sight, he opened the door.  
"Yes?" he asked, voice still gravelly with sleep. 

"Paul?" There. He could place that voice. Camilla Wolfe, younger sister of William Wolfe. Raised horses on a farm just west of Lexington. Parents gone, died of brain fever a few winters back. Good customers of his; they bought silver candlesticks and engraved harness fittings and other knickknacks. Or rather, they had bought. Anymore, any money they had likely went into keeping food on the table and hay in the barn. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need help." 

"Camilla." he said by way of greeting. "You're not a bother." He looked past her, wondering what in the world had her out so late in the day. And, by the look of it, by herself. "Are you alone? Where's Will?"

"He's sick." Camilla said, wringing her hands. "That's why I'm here." Paul frowned. That didn't sound good.

"Come in before you freeze." he said, stepping aside so she could step through the door. "How sick?"

"He can't even get out of bed." Camilla said. "One of his teeth started bothering him a while ago."

"How long ago?" Paul interrupted. "A few days? A week?"

"A little more than a week." she said. "I'd have come to fetch you sooner, but you were away."

"Aye." said Paul, doing his best to ignore the small pang of guilt as he grabbed his tools and implements from drawers and cupboards. 

"And then, a few days ago, it got worse." she said. "Much worse." she added, not giving him the chance to ask. "The whole left side of his face is swollen. He can't eat, he can't sleep, he can't talk..." she trailed off, anxiety evident in her voice.

"Well, let's see what I can do for him." Paul said, pulling on his coat and grabbing his hat. "Lead the way." 

++++++++++

"I've brought Fleetfoot for you to ride." Camilla said, clambering out of the small rowboat they'd taken across the river into Charlestown. "I thought yours might be tired." 

"He is." Paul replied, getting up onto the dock and mooring the boat in place. Poor Shadow was indeed footsore and cranky and would definitely not have appreciated being taken out of the snug little barn where he was boarded. By the time he hit the end of the dock and set foot on dry land, Camilla had all ready darted ahead of him and untied the saddled pair of horses from the hitching rail. She handed him the reins to the dark bay, swung onto the back of her grey, and galloped down the street. Getting aboard Fleetfoot, Paul put his heels to the horse's ribs and followed.

It was late and the Charlestown streets were mostly empty, so they could travel at a good clip. And the moon was full, so even though they were soon beyond the lamps of the town they didn't have to slacken their pace. Paul didn't bother trying to ask Camilla any more questions, since the biting January wind would have only snatched them away. Fleetfoot seemed to be enjoying the run, snorting at every step and pulling on the bit. Were the situation not so dire, Paul would be enjoying himself as well. 

The miles rolled by under the horses' flying hooves. In what seemed like little time at all they whirled through Lexington, barely having to slow down. Outside of town, however, Camilla slowed her horse to a trot. Her and her brother lived some distance off the road, and Paul knew she was looking for a landmark. Half a minute later she had it, the corner of a split rail fence. One leg zigzagged onward, following the road. The other leg shot off through the trees. Camilla turned to follow it and Paul went close behind. 

The going was slower, thanks to the thick trees and hilly terrain, but they reached the farmhouse in a clearing with no incident. Camilla was off her horse and through the door as Paul got down from Fleetfoot's back. He untied his saddlebags and followed quickly. Going up the steps he was met by the Wolfe's enormous dog who demanded a pat before he let him pass. 

As he stepped inside, he heard her saying "...brought Paul to have a look at you." He headed for the sound of her voice in the next room. He had a jibe ready about Camilla doing all the work, but as soon as he caught sight of William the joke died in his throat. 

He was most certainly in a bad way. Camilla had not been jesting when she had said the entire side of his face was swollen. It was to the point that his eye was more than half closed. But worse still was the unhealthy pallor of William's skin and gleam of sweat on his face. A quick hand to his forehead told Paul that the man had a raging fever. Never mind pulling a tooth, William needed to see a doctor. If Warren had been around, Paul would have ridden right back to Boston to fetch him. But unfortunately the young doctor was away. There were other doctors yes, but Paul would bet that none of them would be as willing as Warren to wait for payment. They would want their money right away, and Camilla and Will certainly didn't have it. 

"Will." he said, causing the sick man to turn his head in his direction. "I'm here to help."

The extraction was an unpleasant business. Will was weak from the infection, but not so weak that he couldn't struggle. Luckily, Camilla had her father's big frame and iron determination, so she managed to hold her brother in place as Paul worked. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the offending tooth was removed. Paul packed the would with cotton and gave Will a heavy dose of laudanum for the pain and for sleep. 

"I'll send Dr. Warren as soon as he gets back." Paul told Camilla. "He needs more help than what I've given him." 

"Will he be all right?" she asked, concern coloring her voice. Paul's heart twinged a bit. 

"I don't know." he answered truthfully. "He's in pretty rough shape." He swung up onto Fleetfoot and looked down at her. "Dr. Warren will be able to tell you better than me." Camilla nodded.

"Paul, about..." she began, but he held up a hand, all ready guessing what she was going to say. 

"It's all right." he said. "Don't worry about it. Just pay me when you can." Relief flitted across her face.

"Thank you." she said with a brave smile. Paul returned one of his own and, turning Fleetfoot's head to the trees, rode off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More worldbuilding, more character interaction. No shooty stuff yet.

True to his word, Paul sent Dr. Warren out to see to William as soon as his friend returned to Boston some days later. It was two more days before he saw him again and had the chance to ask how he was. 

"It doesn't look good." Warren said, shaking his head. "I gave him something for the pain and left a bottle with Camilla, but he's got a raging infection and I have no way to treat it."

"How's she taking it?" asked Paul. Warren shrugged. 

"As well as can be expected." he said. "She spends the greater part of her day outside looking after their horses, and I think she feels bad that she has to do that instead of be at his bedside. But she's in every so often to check on him, to tend the fire, to make sure he eats. I told her she's doing fine, she's doing enough by making sure he gets bedrest and keeping him warm, but I'm not sure she believes me."

"Break her heart if she loses him." said Paul. He vaguely remembered her parents's funerals, and how people had said they still had one another. It grieved him a bit to know that soon that might not be the case. 

"Hopefully that won't happen." said Warren. "It's bad, yes, but there is a chance he'll pull through. Will's a strong man and that counts for a lot." 

"Well here's hoping then." said Paul, raising his pint. Warren responded in kind and they drank to the hopeful recovery of William Wolfe.

++++++++++

Life became busier after that. There were always Redcoats to keep an eye upon, but there seemed to be more of them as of late. Trying to make their authority felt, no doubt. Sam was greatly annoyed with their increased presence, and Paul could tell he was itching to do something more. What that might be, he had no idea. Then word came that the Crown was sending an additional military force. Not just shuffling troops from different colonies, but actual ships with British Marines from Britain. 

"Maybe this will get them to sit up and pay attention." Paul said to Warren as he sat down across from his friend at a table in the Green Dragon. 

"Off to take news to Philadelphia?" Warren asked. Paul shook his head. 

"Just New York this time. If something's going to happen I want to be able to get back as fast as I can." Paul said, taking a pull from his beer. Warren nodded. 

"I stopped by the Wolfe's yesterday." he said. It was Paul's turn to nod.

"Planning on stopping out there myself tomorrow and returning their horse." he said. "How's Will?"

"Same." said Warren, shaking his head. That gave Paul pause. 

"No improvement?" he asked. That wasn't the good news he was hoping for.

"No, but no decline either." Warren said. 

"How's Camilla?" Paul asked. The work and stress had to be getting to her. Poor woman. 

"Same." said Warren with a half smile. "I think she's decided that if she can take care of everything so Will doesn't have to worry, he'll get better. Oh, and she told me to tell you that you're welcome to use Fleetfoot if you've travelling to do."

"Am I now?" said Paul. Warren nodded overtop his beer. 

"Aye." he said. "She said 'I know he has to sometimes travel far and fast and he's only got one horse. Poor beast must be feeling the miles.' "

"That's very kind of her." Paul said with a smile. She was right, but that was not really a surprise. 

++++++++++

Paul did ride Fleetfoot on his trip to New York. Despite the many days of rest, he didn't want to take Shadow out again so soon. And Fleetfoot was a fine, strong horse with plenty of energy to burn. Unfortunately, a good horse was pretty much the only good thing about his trip. The committee in New York received his news of an additional British force with reactions ranging from trepidation to indifference to outright hostility. 

"What did you expect? That they would just lie down and allow you to walk all over them?" one of the members asked. Paul had tried to explain that no, they knew better than that and that's why they were asking for help but the man had only looked down his nose at him and said that "Boston has made her bed and now she can lie in it." Paul had left soon after, lest he lose his temper and break someone's nose. 

When he arrived back in Boston he made for the Green Dragon. Doubtless Sam would be there and would want to hear everything. He spied his friend in a back corner, flanked by Warren and Kelly. Grabbing a pint from the bar, he strode over and slid into the chair across from Sam with a nod of greeting. 

"What did they say?" he asked without preamble. Paul shook his head. 

"Same thing they always say. That we're asking for it and we should stop complaining." Paul took a swallow from his tankard while Sam's fingers tightened around his. 

"Don't they understand what we're facing here?" Kelly growled. 

"No, nor do they appear to care." said Warren. 

"They will if the Redcoats show up in their streets and start waving their bayonets in their faces." Sam said. 

"I'm pretty sure they're doing their damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen." Paul said. "I heard one fella talking about paying for the tea, just to make this whole thing go away." 

"Paying fo...this is not about the damned tea! Not anymore!" Sam spat the words angrily. 

"I know that." Paul said patiently. "Everyone here knows that. But we're going to have a Hell of a time convincing anyone else." Sam's only response was to huff angrily and glower at his beer. Paul knew his friend wasn't angry with him; Sam was angry at those faraway men who refused to look past the ends of their own noses.


	3. Chapter 3

Not long after Paul's fruitless trip to New York, General Thomas Gage arrived in Boston. Well back in the crowd, Paul watched the spectacle of his disembarking. It looked like the Crown had sent an awful lot of Regulars. An awful lot. His unease worsened as he watched the General dismiss Governor Hutchinson. That could not be good at all. Hutchinson was a shit governor, but Paul was sure having a military general in charge of things was going to be much worse. 

And he was soon proven right. The following days were a nightmare. Redcoats were everywhere, and they were harassing citizens with impunity. Paul was forced to tread carefully, lest he be taken and interrogated. But it grated on him, having to constantly look over his shoulder. He could see it was getting to Sam as well. His friend was chafing under the oppression and seething at what was inflicted upon ordinary cityfolk. Then, one night at the Green Dragon, more dread news fell like a thunderbolt. 

"Gage shut the ports." Warren said, not even bothering with a hello.

"Bastard." Paul spit the word like a curse. That was a hard draught to swallow. No shipping meant even less money coming in for the all ready tax burdened citizens.   
"Nothing in, nothing out." Warren continued, sliding onto the bench beside Sam. "A number of soldiers took over the Clarke house on Hanover Street and they're quartered there now."

"I saw them do the same thing to a number of homes on my square." Paul added. So this was a city-wide occurrence, not an isolated incident. Things were becoming worse all the time. Warren looked like he was going to say more, but the door clattered open, ushering in the sound of many booted feet, commanding everyone's attention. Sam leaned back for a better look.

"Mister Adams." came an accented voice. Sam stood up, as did Warren. Paul set down his drink and did the same, following them out onto the floor. "You are the famous Samuel Adams, are you not?" The voice belonged to a Redcoat officer standing at the other end of the room, smiling benignly. Paul didn't believe it for a second. 

"Is there a problem?" he asked, striding closer. If a fight was going to break out, he didn't want to be in a corner.

"There's no problem." the Redcoat barely got the words out before Kelly cut him off. 

"Well then that is very good to know." the Irishman said, getting down from his perch on a table. He had been peeling an apple, and he gestured at the door with the knife. "You boys can leave." Sam, backed up by Warren, leaned on the bar and waited to see what the Redcoat would do. 

"The General understands your...concern during this delicate transition." the man said, ignoring Kelly and walking across the floor towards Sam. Not here for a fight then, else there'd have been punches thrown by now. "And as a gesture of good faith he asks that I cover your tab for the evening." The Redcoat smiled and held up a coin purse. "Everyone's tab, in fact." he said loud enough for all to hear. So he was here to deliver a message, and probably a bribe. Sam sat, unmoving, and looked at the man as he poured the silver coins out onto the table. Paul could see the wheels turning in his friend's head. Measuring, calculating, deciding. "I only ask for a moment of your time," the Redcoat continued, taking a pair of mugs from one of his underlings and turning back to Sam, "in private." Sam considered for a second. 

"I suppose we can talk for a moment." he said, standing up and striding towards the back room. The Redcoat looked pleased as he turned to follow. Warren walked over to the spot at the bar Sam had vacated and leaned against it, his face troubled. Paul headed over and stopped beside him. 

"Nothing to worry about." he assured his friend. Sam *was* a bit of a hothead, but he knew better than to do or say anything stupid when there was a pack of armed soldiers present.

"I know." said Warren. Then, taking a deep breath as though fortifying himself, he continued, "I have more news." Paul quirked an inquiring eyebrow at him. "William Wolfe died last week." Paul cursed under his breath. More bad news. "We buried him a few days ago." Warren gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I know the two of you were friends." Paul nodded.

"Been hard to get anywhere as of late." he said quietly, flicking his gaze at the assembled Redcoats. "Not your fault." He took a swig of his beer and threw another covert glare at the soldiers. "How's Camilla?"

"A little lost." Warren said. 

"He was all the family she had left." Paul said. "She's not going to know what to do with her self now. " Warren nodded in agreement. "She all right otherwise?"

"She'll get along." Warren affirmed. "She's been looking after things for a while since he first got sick. But the way things are going downhill, it certainly wouldn't hurt to check on her every so often."


	4. Chapter 4

Camilla wiped the sweat from her brow as she paused in the midst of mucking out a stall. Grief sat in her chest like a great, heavy stone. Will was gone. Her brother, her only family. She was alone now, lost, adrift and hurting. But, even so, animals would not look after themselves and the sun still climbed above the horizon each day. So, she threw herself into the work; mending fences, tending the horses and pigs, plowing, planting, laboring from dawn until dusk. If she concentrated on the work, on the ache in her muscles and the sun on her neck, she could almost forget that Will was gone. But inevitably, she would stop and start towards the farmhouse to check on him only to have to stop and remind herself that he was no longer there. Moments like that hurt the worst. Drawing a breath and releasing it slowly, Camilla took up her fork and stabbed at the straw bedding. She had only tossed a couple of forkfuls when Bear began barking. Leaning her fork against the wall, Camilla stepped around the wheelbarrow and hurried outside.

"Bear!" she called to the large dog as she left the barn, "Hush!" Having done his job of alerting her to arrivals, Bear obediently quieted. Camilla walked across the barnyard to greet the men riding out of the trees. She had been expecting perhaps more friends to offer condolences, but these were British soldiers. The smallest flutter of fear bloomed in her heart. "Good afternoon, gentlemen." she called to them. The man in the lead, with fancy gold fringing on the shoulders of his jacket, dismounted and strode forward to meet her. 

"Good afternoon, madam." he said. "I am Captain Thomas Preston, His Majesty's British Marines. You are Camilla Wolfe, correct?"

"Yes." Camilla said, her unease growing. She was pretty sure she hadn't broken any laws. And even if she had, would it require half a dozen armed men to arrest her? 

"I'm told you keep a small number of fine horses here on your farm?" Preston said, offering a conciliatory smile. Camilla instantly relaxed. So they wanted to buy horses. Well, that was certainly easy to deal with.

"I do indeed." she said, returning his smile. "Would you like to see them?" she asked. 

"I would, thank you." Preston said, following her over to the pen where her horses were kept. 

"The grey is Silver Mist. She's just come four years old." Camilla said, "She's got good, solid bone and hooves like rock. She's very gentle and well behaved. Gets along with everyone." She pointed at the black horse next to the grey mare. "That's Midnight. Bigger and stronger. A bit more feisty as well. She's not _mean_ , but she's so smart that she gets bored easily and starts making trouble just for something to do." Walking down the fence, she introduced the next pair in the adjacent pen. "These two are Redwing and Foxfire. Coach or wagon team."

"They're very well matched." commented Preston. Camilla nodded.

"Their paces match well also." she said. "Foxfire has an unpleasant temper, but once she's harnessed she goes right to work."

"Does she bite or abuse other horses?" Preston asked. Camilla shook her head.

"No, she's fine with horses and even cattle. She just doesn't like people." she said. The mare in question, standing on the other side of her partner, lifted her head at the sound of their voices. She regarded them for a moment and then, as though dismissing them as unworthy of note, dropped her head to continue nibbling at the hay in the manger.

"This fellow down here is my pride and joy." Camilla said, moving to the last pen. "This is Silver Star. He's going to be five in the summer. Sired by an old stallion called Hoarfrost I've got penned down in the meadow. His mother was an old mare we called Morning Star, Outran everything she was matched against."

"She was a racer then?" Preston asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Camilla shrugged.

"Well, she was more of an all purpose horse that happened to be exceptionally fast. We hitched her to the small cart to fetch hay or firewood or to drive to town. Plowed with her too. She did all of it very well; she was very smart. And Silver Star is cut from the same cloth. Smart, brave and willing. He's my herd stallion, so I'm afraid he's not for sale."

"Oh I'm not worried about that." Preston said. He turned and headed back across the barnyard. Falling into step beside him, Camilla wondered if she should mention Fleetfoot, currently loaned to her brother's friend Paul Revere. "At any rate," Preston continued, "I am happy to see that I was not misinformed. They're all fine specimens and will serve quite well for what we need them for." Preston gestured to his men. Two of them dismounted and headed towards the barn. "We will be taking all of them." Camilla stopped, flabbergasted. That much money, just when she needed it the most, was a godsend. Nevermind that these men seemed presumptuous and rude; it was an amount that she couldn't possibly refuse. 

"Wonderful." she managed to stammer. "If you'll give me just a moment, I'll go to the house and write you a bill of sale." She was just about to say something about Fleetfoot as well, but Preston cut her off. 

"That won't be necessary." he said. His men had emerged from the barn, halters in hand, and were working on catching the horses. Midnight and Mist had all ready been brought out and handed off. 

"I'm..sorry?" Camilla said, confused. It had been a long while since she had sold an animal, but surely bills of sale were still in use. "Why not?"

"We're not buying them." Preston said as his men led Silver Star out into the yard. They moved on to Foxfire and Redwing's pen. Noticing the intruders, the red mare lifted her head as she had before. This time, instead of going back to her hay, she laid her ears back. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Camilla said, her confusion turning to panic. SURELY they couldn't come onto her farm and just...just TAKE them, could they?

"Parliament has recently passed several new laws." Preston said, as though informing a small child of something of grave importance. "Under which the Crown may appropriate property if it is deemed necessary." His smile was not conciliatory this time, it was chilling. "I deem it necessary."

"Captain." one of the men trying to catch Foxfire called. "I don't believe either of these two is suitable. Too aggressive and too flighty." He sounded out of breath. 

"Leave them then." Preston ordered. "Carthorses are as common as dirt in this country." The man nodded to his equally winded compatriot, and they both exited the pen. "There, you see?" Preston said, turning back to Camilla, "We aren't despoiling you completely." Camilla said nothing, her mind refusing to work. She stood, rooted to the spot, as Preston walked back to his own horse, mounted up, and offered a mocking tip of his hat. "Your King thanks you." he called over his shoulder as his little party turned and rode back through the trees, her three finest horses in tow.


	5. Chapter 5

Heeding Warren's hinted advice, Paul decided to ride out to Camilla's farm before the end of the week. The Redcoats at the Charlestown ferry hassled him some, but he held his temper and manged to get past them without breaking any of their noses. He threw a saddle on Shadow and put a halter on Fleetfoot. 

"I bet Camilla's missed you." he said, giving the horse a pat before swinging onto Shadow's back. Pointing him down the track, he rode out of Charlestown at an easy trot. 

Fleetfoot ponied on a lead very well, keeping pace with Shadow easily. Halting at the familiar post and rail fence corner, Paul turned off the road just outside of Lexington. The sun was shining through the newly budded branches and the ground was soft and damp under the horses' feet. Camilla would be plowing by now, perhaps even planting early season crops. Fleetfoot seemed to know where he was going, and pulled eagerly on his lead line. Paul allowed himself a smile. The horse had handled his trip to New York well, and with more journeys doubtless forthcoming in the future, Paul would miss him. "Oh well." he said to himself.

They were soon climbing up the last hill before Camilla's farm would come into view. Paul nudged Shadow into a trot that quickly took them to the top and within sight of the farmstead. He could see Camilla outside pitching hay over a fence-a spot of lighter color against the red barn as she walked across in front of it.

"Hello!" he called as he rode out from the trees. She turned sharply, then, after a moment, raised a hand in greeting.

"Hello!" came her faint reply. She leaned her pitchfork against the barn and walked over to meet him, stopping only to give her half asleep dog a pat. 

"I believe I have something of yours." he said, swinging down from Shadow's back and handing her Fleetfoot's leadrope. She took it with a smile. 

"He's done well?" she asked, stepping close to the animal and patting his neck. Paul nodded.

"He went to New York and back with no problem. Rides nice, good manners. He's a fine horse." he said. 

"William's favorite." Camilla said in a quiet voice. 

"Can see why." Paul replied, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I'm sorry about him."

"Thank you." Camilla said with a sad smile. 

"Are you going to be all right out here all by yourself?" Paul asked.

"I am." Camilla replied. "I have Bear in case someone looks for trouble," she gestured at the dozing hound, "and I can ride for help if need be."

"He didn't raise much of a fuss when I rode up." Paul said, looking over at Bear. The dog was massive enough and probably could bring down a boar, but he seemed...less than alert. 

"Well you aren't looking for trouble now, are you?" said Camilla. "He's fine; he knows you and Fleetfoot. If you were a stranger I'd have known about you long before you got here."

"You going to be able to handle all the work?" Paul continued. "You've got farming, plus what...six, eight horses to look after?" He didn't know the first thing about farming or raising horses, but it had to be a lot of work for one person to manage. He would have said more, but the look of sheer loathing that flickered across Camilla's face stilled the words on his lips. 

"I only have three horses left." she said, voice dripping with venom enough to kill an ox. 

"What happened?" Paul asked. Had some disease taken most of her herd? Was he risking Shadow by riding him out here?

"Redcoats." Camilla turned her head and spit. "Redcoats happened." Paul was flabbergasted. 

"They took your horses?" he asked. That was low indeed. Camilla didn't even come into Boston, let alone have anything to do with the unrest there. 

"They took my best." she said, and there was pain mixed with the anger now. "Silver Mist, Midnight, and Silver Star. Two breeding mares and my herd stallion. They'd have taken Redwing and Foxfire too, except Foxfire ran them off." The last sentence was said with no small amount of malicious glee. "So I'm left with them and Hoarfrost. He's a fine stallion, but he's so very old." She shook her head. "Are things this bad in Boston?"

"Worse, I'm afraid." Paul said. "The Crown is quartering soldiers all over the city."

"Quartering?" repeated Camilla, disbelief coloring voice. "They can just...invade? Throw people from their homes?"

"They can and they have." Paul said. "Half a dozen places that we know of, probably more that we don't. They're locking people away for the most minor infractions. And they flogged a man within in an inch of his life last week in the square." Camilla turned her head sharply at the last sentence. 

"A public flogging?" she said incredulously. "What on earth did he do?"

"Stole something." Paul replied. "At least they said he did." Camilla snorted.

"And yet they ride out here and take half my livestock without so much as batting an eye." The anger was back now, evident in her narrowed eyes and tight grip on her fork as well as in her voice. She paused a moment, seemingly gathering thoughts. "I spoke with your friend Dr. Warren when he was here last; he wasn't as forthcoming with details. But he did say that there are some people working to oppose this whole...mess. I assume you're one of them?"

"Yes, I am." Paul said, "Myself, Joseph, more than a few others." Camilla smiled, and it was not an entirely nice one. 

"I want to help." she said. Paul shook his head.

"Can't let you do that." he said, "These men are much too dangerous."

"I've met them, remember?" countered Camilla. "And they strike me as more rude and pretentious than dangerous." 

"That's because they were here for your horses, not you." replied Paul. "You get wrapped up in this, they'll come back."

"I'm not afraid." Camilla proclaimed in a steely voice.

"No, I don't imagine you are." he said. Heaving a sigh, he continued, "Very well. If we have need of you, I'll let you know."

"I *will* hold you to that, Paul Revere." Camilla said, fixing him with a stern gaze. "And speaking of being held to something, I believe I owe you a debt." Paul opened his mouth to protest, but Camilla held up a hand and continued. "I still cannot pay it, and for that I am sorry. But, if it's agreeable to you, would you perhaps like to keep Fleetfoot for longer?"

"You don't need him?" Paul asked. 

"Hoarfrost will do for any travelling I might need." she said. "And if any more Redcoats come by, it might look strange that I've got another horse around here that they didn't know about." she smiled ruefully. "And I would hate to give them the wrong idea."

"That is true." said Paul. That actually sealed the agreement; he would take Fleetfoot back home with him. It would be a good arrangement; she would not be incriminated if any more Redcoats happened to come by, and he would have a fine spare horse for any of his travels. 

He said his farewells not long after, not wanting to keep her from her work. She patted Fleetfoot on the neck and admonished him to behave himself, which made Paul smile as he swung into the saddle. 

"Remember Paul," she said, looking up at him, "I want to help. I _can_ help."

"I won't forget." he promised as she stepped back and he nudged Shadow into a walk Forget he would not, but that did not mean he had to say anything to Sam or anyone else. Camilla had just lost her brother, and Redcoats had all ready robbed her once. He'd be damned if he'd bring more trouble to her doorstep.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul was worried. Not because an entire pack of Redcoats had beaten his friend Tim Kelly bloody and half senseless. No, that had only made him angry. Not because said Redcoats were looking for Sam. He was thoroughly hidden in the basement of Paul's shop; the Redcoats had all ready been through it twice and hadn't found him so Paul didn't fret. No, Paul was worried because the Redcoats had shown up in one of their strongholds-the Green Dragon. Paul hadn't thought they had the nerve to attack them when they were in strength. He was wrong, and he suspected the only reason he wasn't in a condition similar to Kelly's was because he'd been in the stables relieving himself. 

"Doing all right?" he asked the injured Irishman. 

" 'ed hurts." Kelly mumbled through mangled lips. 

"Soon as we get to the shop I'll go fetch Warren." Paul promised. Luckily, they didn't have far to go. A few moments more and they were stumbling down the stairs to the basement of Paul's smithing shop. 

"It's us Sam." Paul called to the empty room. His friend would be hid in one of the storage rooms; a few seconds later the rattling of the door farthest away revealed which one. 

"Back so early?" Sam's tone was light and joking as he came around the door. "Did they run out..." he stopped in mid sentence as he caught sight of them. Worry clouded his face as he rushed over. "What happened?" he asked, getting under Kelly's other arm and helping the man to a nearby chair. 

"Redcoats." Kelly growled. 

"They were after you." Paul interjected. "I'd look the same but I was outside." Anger at this revelation chased the worry from Sam's face. 

"They couldn't get me, so they went after you instead." he said tightly. Paul put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

"They know you're a hothead, so they're trying to bait you." he said. Sam glared at him, and Paul met his gaze evenly, knowing the other man's fury wasn't directed at him. 

"What would you have me do?" he asked between clenched teeth. Paul gave him a sad, resigned smile. 

"Much as it pains me to say it, do nothing." he said. "Because if you take their bait, all this has been for naught." Sam glared harder for a moment, then gave a sigh that was half angry huff. 

"You're right." he said. Looking over to Kelly, he gave the Irishman a heartbroken smile. "Thank you, Kelly," he said, "I'm sorry you endured all that just for my sake." 

" 'S all right." Kelly replied with a red stained smile. "Only a bit of a mess. Honestly, hurt meself worse than this cooking breakfast." Despite that doubtless being an interesting story, Paul headed back out into the night to fetch Warren, leaving Sam to tend to his injured friend.

++++++++++

"This makes things a bit more difficult." said Warren. It was later in the evening now. Kelly had been patched up, Sam had calmed down. But there were still problems to be solved. What to do about the Redcoats coming to the Dragon was foremost among them. 

"They know where to look, where to listen." Paul said. "Probably have a spy or two." He tool a pull on his tankard. "And it's not as though we can just drive them out."

"We don't need to drive them out." Sam interjected. 

"Move to a different spot then?" Kelly asked. Sam scrunched his face and tilted his head. 

"Not exactly." he said. "We stay put..."

"How does that help?" Paul asked. Staying put made no sense. Sam held up a hand.

"We stay put because if we move then they'll just follow us and find us." he said. "So we stay put and let them think they've got us figured out. We just don't say anything of importance there. We save that for somewhere else."

"So we _do_ move." affirmed Kelly. Sam nodded. 

"Yes, we do." he said. "The question is where?" The words hung in the air; none of them seemed to have an immediate answer.

"I might know of a place." Warren finally offered. "A young lady named Camilla Wolfe lives on a farm just on the other side of Lexington."

"Wolfe." mused Sam. "Her and her brother raised horses, didn't they?" Warren nodded. "And he just recently died?"

"Pneumonia." interjected Paul. "She's all by herself now. She's got enough to look after without us bringing more trouble."

"We won't be bringing any trouble." argued Warren. "I, for one, would be willing to help with whatever she needs in exchange for use of her kitchen table as a meeting place."

"And I." put in Kelly. Sam nodded. 

"And I." he said. "But, can you be sure she would welcome us? I'm not going to force this cause on anyone."

"When I stopped to see her last I told her some of what was happening." Warren said, "She said, more than once, that she would help. All we need to do is to ask."

"Then ask we shall." said Sam. Uneasy, Paul shook his head. 

"I don't know." he said carefully. 

"You don't trust her?" Sam asked, fixing Paul with a penetrating look. 

"Oh I trust her." Paul replied. "She's got as much reason to hate Redcoats as any of us. It just feels wrong to impose on her."

"We're not imposing." Sam countered with a grin. "We're just asking. She's free to tell us no." Faced with that logic, Paul could only nod his assent. "So, we ride out tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." Paul agreed as Warren and Kelly nodded


	7. Chapter 7

Try as he might, Paul could not shake the uneasy feeling in his gut as he followed Warren and the rest of his friends through the trees. He was quite sure they hadn't been followed or found out. The Redcoats were after Sam at the moment, and he hadn't even gone back to Boston; he and John had spent the night in Charlestown. As for himself, he and Warren had been carefully scrutinized when they had taken passage on the ferry from Boston early this morning, but Warren had given them a story about someone needing dental surgery and wanting to be there to assist Paul. The Redcoats had bought it, and they had crossed to Charlestown without incident. 

"It's certainly isolated enough." Sam remarked.

"Not totally." Paul replied. "They've been out here once all ready, so they know she's here."

"Really?" Sam asked, frowning. He drew rein so Paul could ride up beside him. "What did they want?"

"Horses." Paul said. "They took her three best." He could tell by the way Sam's eyes narrowed that this revelation angered him. No one was safe, not even the isolated daughter of a horse breeder. 

"It's very possible that since they've gotten what they want from her that they'll just ignore her." Warren spoke up from the front. 

"Let's hope so." replied Sam as their group rode up the hill to Camilla's farm. Even before they reached the edge of the trees, Paul could hear Bear barking. 

"Good morning!" Warren called, riding a little bit ahead of them. Sam and Cousin John nudged their horses into a trot to keep up, and Paul did the same. By the time they cleared the treeline, Camilla had come around the barn, pitchfork in hand. 

"Good morning!" Paul heard her reply. "Bear! Hush!" she added as the dog began another round of barking. With a final rumble, Bear lowered his head and trotted back to lay just inside the barn where it was cool. Camilla waved at the rest of them in greeting. "I see you've brought friends." she said as she walked up to their group. 

"Yes." said Joseph as they dismounted. "This is Sam Adams and his cousin John Adams." John and Sam tipped their hats and shook hands by way of greeting. "And I know you know Paul." 

"I do." Camilla grinned at him. "How's Fleetfoot?"

"Fine as ever." Paul said, smiling back. 

"Good." Camilla said. She looked around at the group. "Well, why don't all of you put your horses up-I've got plenty of space-and come inside. I've had a pot of stew on the stove all morning. It won't be much, but it'll be something to chew on while you tell me what brings you out here."  


"All right." said Sam with a nod. 

++++++++++++++++++

"So, gentlemen," Camilla said when they'd all seated themselves at her dining table. "what brings you all the way out to the middle of nowhere?"

"We need your help." Joseph said. Camilla nodded, looking not-at-all surprised. 

"I thought you might." she said, passing out bowls full of steaming stew. "So my next question is _how_ , exactly, do you need me to help?" 

"Your farm." Sam said, gesturing in the direction of the window. "It's perfect." Camilla looked puzzled as she went back to the counter to slice up some bread.

"Perfect for what, exactly?" she asked, picking up a knife and sawing through the loaf. "I mean, it's a bit off the beaten track, and it..."

"That's why, though." Sam said around a mouthful of meat and vegetables. "We need someplace isolated, hard to find. There are Redcoats everywhere in Boston, and there must surely be spies and Loyalists who would betray any of us."

"We need a place to meet where we can discuss...things...without fear of being overheard." Warren said, filling in the blanks that Sam was inadvertently leaving in his enthusiasm. 

"Is that all?" Camilla asked in a disbelieving tone as she set the bread down in the center of the table "You'd come all the way out here to sit and talk?"

"Sit and talk and plan is all for now." Sam affirmed, helping himself to a slice of bread "There's not really enough of us to do anything bigger." He shot his cousin John a look as he handed him the platter with the loaf. "But that's what the planning is for. We want more people so we can do more and bigger things."

"Well I've got plenty of room." Camilla said, pouring herself some cider into a battered old glass. "So space won't be a problem."

"It could be dangerous." Paul interjected, throwing a look in Sam's direction. His friend seemed to be leaving that part out. "Redcoats find out you've got us here, they'll come looking."

"Oh I'm not worried about them." said Camilla. Paul raised his eyebrows as he picked up a slice of bread. 

"You're not?" he said. Camilla shook her head. 

"They're not men to be trifled with." Cousin John said, offering warning where Sam did not. "They won't think twice about arresting you if the notion takes them." 

"They won't arrest me." she said, the tiniest hint of contempt in her voice. "They got what they wanted from me so now they're content to ignore me." 

"Let's hope things stay that way." said Warren. He sounded a little concerned as well. "We'd hate to bring trouble to your doorstep." 

"Well if you do bring trouble, it will be the welcome kind." Camilla said, taking a pull from her cider.

"I didn't know there was such a thing." Cousin John said. Paul found himself nodding in agreement. Trouble and good were two words that didn't belong together. Certainly not with Redcoats thrown into the mix. 

"There is." Camilla affirmed. "A lot of the time, the only way to make things change is to cause trouble." Paul allowed himself a crooked smile, because that sounded like something Sam would say. And judging from the way his friend was smiling, he knew it. 

"Be that as it may." Cousin John said, looking at them both. "I still hope we can avoid having Redcoats show up here."

"I don't think we need to be too concerned about it." Camilla said, leaning against the doorjamb. "As long as you don't hand out pamphlets advertising your presence they've got no reason to come here."

"What if they find one?" interjected Paul. "They may not be very smart, but they don't have to be. All it takes is one gossipy neighbor, one traveler seeing us take that turn off the road and they'll be out here in force." 

"Well if it comes to that," Camilla shrugged, "then I will tell them what they want to hear and send them on their way." She made a shooing gesture, as though the idea of more Redcoats out here troubled her no more than herding chickens. 

"What do you mean 'tell them what they want to hear.' " asked Sam, a slightly worried expression on his face. 

"I mean that they want to hear that I'm afraid of them, that I want to keep out of the fight, that I'll give them whatever they want as long as they leave me alone." She smiled toothily. "So, should they decide to pay me a visit, I will do my best to fill their heads with those notions." She pasted a worried expression on her face and blinked, looking rather like a frightened rabbit. "Oh no Captain, I've no Rebels here. That would be treason. I'm just a poor horse trader's daughter and I know better than to get into trouble with the Crown." Sam and Warren both chuckled. 

"You tell them something in that tone of voice they'll know you're lying." Warren said. Paul allowed himself a small smile. She _had_ been troweling it on pretty thick. 

"Fair enough." Camilla said, offering them all a mischievous smile of her own. "But you get the idea."

"You tell them a pack of lies if they show up." Paul said, turning the conversation back to serious matters. Camilla still didn't seem appropriately concerned. "All right. So, what I want to know is what do you plan on doing if they don't believe you?"

"I make it so they do." Camilla said confidently. "If they want a look around, they're welcome to it. Except, would they please not throw my hay all over, I've spent days putting it up. And those wooden crates in the corner of the barn, I would ask that they not unstack those either; they're so very heavy and it's a great deal of work to stack them again. And they're welcome to look in my root cellar, but please don't pull things off the shelves or smash up my barrels because I've got to get by on those potatoes and squash through the winter." 

"And you think that, just because you ask them not to, they won't tear this place apart." Paul said, raising an eyebrow.

"I think if I convince them I'm not a threat they'll leave me alone and go about their business." Camilla replied.

"Well if you're harboring rebels then you'll be considered threat." Paul countered. 

"No." Camilla corrected him with a shake of her head. " _I'm_ not the threat. The rebels are." She looked around the table with a grin. "And as long as they don't actually _find_ any rebels here, there isn't anything to worry about." 

"Best way to not get found someplace is to not be there." said Paul. Camilla rolled her eyes over the rim of her glass as she took a swig of cider.

"It's funny how you come all the way out here to ask me if you can meet in my kitchen but once I say yes you try and talk me out of it." she remarked.

"Just want to make sure you know what you're getting in to." Paul said. The prospect of Redcoats dismantling the farm one nail at a time was no joke, despite her desire to treat it like one. 

"I know very well what I'm getting into." Camilla said, fixing him with a steady, even gaze. The light, teasing tone in her voice had gone, replaced by something steely and determined. "They've been here once all ready, remember?" 

"And you would invite that again by having us here?" Sam asked. Camilla's eyes flicked over to his friend's face.

"I would." she said in the same voice. Sam met her gaze for a moment, then smiled. 

"Good enough for me." he said. Paul, however, could not bring himself to smile. No good could come of this. It was far too dangerous.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam was angry. Paul could tell. He and Cousin John and himself were having supper at the Green Dragon with a larger group of compatriots, and somewhere among them lurked a spy. There could be no other explanation for so many recent near misses. Someone was feeding information to the Redcoats. They did not know who-but someone had betrayed them and ,until they were found out, they would likely keep doing so. As consequence, nothing of great importance could be said at these gatherings. Which meant that nothing was getting done. That, almost more than the presence of a spy, was what likely had Sam so angry. He'd all ready asked Paul about going back out to Camilla's farm by the end of the week and taking a few of their most trusted men with. Kelly for sure, Paul thought, flicking his gaze over the tall Irishman. Warren had other obligations, but he knew where the farm was. And Paul would inform him of anything important. 

"Don't worry." a voice said as a hand clapped on his shoulder, "It'll be all right." Paul nodded at the owner of the hand-his friend Amos. Likely he would go as well. Paul had voiced his concerns to the man earlier in the day, and Amos had listened sympathetically. 

"It's no small thing we're asking of her." he'd said. "But she sounds willing. And capable." Paul had been forced to agree. 

"You'll like her." he said now to Amos. "Has some fine horses."

"I know them." said Amos, tearing a chunk of bread off the loaf at their end of the table. He offered half of it to Paul. Paul took it and took a bite. It was...slightly hard. Not as good as what he'd had at Camilla's the other day. Taking a bite of his own, Amos raised an eyebrow. "You're riding one, are you not?"

"Yeah." said Paul. "It's an...arrangement. All this running around wears Shadow out, so it's nice to have a spare to spell him." Amos looked like he would have asked more, but three loud thumps interrupted him. Paul turned to look in the direction of the door. It was Jacob, their watchman, accompanied by....John Hancock? And he looked...upset. Alarmed? He shifted from foot to foot for a second, before huffing out a breath and licking his lips as he strode into the now silent room. The confidence, the self possessed bearing that Paul remembered were gone. John looked, for all the world, like a nervous horse being led into a barn full of dogs.

"Good evening gentlemen." he said, looking around. Well, he still had his manners, so he wasn't completely panicked. "Mister Adams." John inquired, stepping forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Paul watched Sam continue eating as though he hadn't heard the man. "Mister Adams." John tried again, more insistently this time. Sam finally looked up from his plate. John licked his lips again but didn't flinch under Sam's scrutiny. "I am in." he said. Paul leaned back in his chair. "Whatever you want," John continued, "whatever you need, I am with you." *This* was interesting. Paul wondered what had brought this on. Sam, however, seemed bored or even annoyed at this revelation. He sucked a dribble of soup off his finger and looked up at John. 

"And why should we...trust you?" he asked. "How do we know you're not working for Gage now?"

"I resent that." John said, and by God there was actual steel underlying his voice. Sam threw Paul a quick look-he'd heard it too- before turning back to John. 

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Sam asked, picking up his drink and leaning back in his chair. His voice betrayed nothing more than mild curiosity. John was silent for a moment, not meeting anyone's eyes, gnawing on the corner of his lip. 

"He took my house." he finally said. A murmur ran around the room, with just the slightest undercurrent of malice. So there *was* an ulterior motive. John didn't have anywhere else to go. If he did, he wouldn't be here. The flare of anger at this revelation was almost enough to drown the pang of pity Paul felt for the man. But not quite. For all his fine manners and fancy clothing, John was probably poorer now than any of them. He had quite literally nothing more than the clothes on his back. 

"Of course he did." If his voice was anything to go by, Sam wasn't feeling as much sympathy for the man as Paul was. "Look at you." Sam continued, his voice dripping venom. "Still only out for yourself." Setting his drink down, Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table, and glared at John. "I mean, you're only here now because you've been booted out of your little fantasy world. You are *not* one of us." Silence reigned in the small room as that proclamation hung in the air between the two of them. And when John didn't get the message, Sam gave him a much less subtle one. "So why don't you get out." he said, jerking his head towards the door. John remained standing right where he was. Paul wasn't sure if he was disbelieving that he was actually being run off or if he was challenging Sam's words. Either way it didn't matter. "Get out." Sam snapped, making his point unmistakably clear. John's reaction surprised Paul; he didn't throw a tantrum, he didn't plead, he didn't whine. He only shrugged and half nodded, as though Sam had told him he couldn't make tomorrow's tea time, and turned to leave. 

"No. Wait." Cousin John's voice stopped him before he got halfway to the door. Everyone, Sam included, turned to look at the other Adams. "I have a plan; we need him." John turned back around at this statement. His face didn't betray so much as a hint of emotion, but Paul suspected he was very relieved at the prospect of having someplace... _any_ place to go. 

"For what?" Sam asked his cousin. He clearly wanted none of this; he'd all ready made up his mind to get along without whatever help John might be able to provide. But his cousin was the more plan oriented of them. Sam knew it, and so he chose to listen. 

"His money." Cousin John replied. Sam turned to look back at John. He still didn't like him, still didn't want him around. But he would be useful. Question was: would John, knowing full well that he was being used, stay around? He didn't actually speak, but his nod and facial expression were a yes. Not an enthusiastic one, but a yes.


	9. Chapter 9

"It would seem, Mister Revere, that I am once again in your debt." John said as Paul led him through the streets. 

"Ah," Paul replied cheerfully, "don't mention it. Can't very well leave you on the street." John smiled thinly, as though he wasn't quite sure about that. And after the way Sam had dismissed him, Paul really couldn't blame him. He knew Sam had little patience for flattering and talking and deal making. Paul truthfully didn't care for any of it either-he preferred action to words-but he did acknowledge that there was a need for people who were good at that sort of thing. That would be where men like John came in. Paul admired the patience and mental agility that he possessed; he knew full well that smuggling required both in great quantity, plus a fair amount of nerve. John might not be a man of action like Sam or himself, but he was no slouch. 

"Here we are." Paul said by way of welcome, unlocking the door to his lower level shop. "Watch yourself: lots of tools." His warning, unfortunately, was in vain. John was unfamiliar with the layout of the place and seemed to bump into something every other step. Paul allowed himself a grin at his mixed apologizing and cursing. "It's fine." he said, managing to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Just watch the stairs." he directed. John negotiated those without incident, only pausing at the top when Paul took a moment to light a candle. "It's probably smaller than what you're used to," he said, leading the way across the barely lit room, "but it's home." 

"No, no." John said quickly, following on his heels. "It's very cozy." Paul was pretty sure that was code for 'small' but he let it slide. John had been rattled pretty hard and he didn't feel the need to make it worse. He showed John to the spare bedroom-thankfully he'd tidied it some since Amos had been here last week-and set about fetching some spare clothes. The other man was taller than him, but not so broad, so his things would fit a bit loosely. He selected one of his less worn out shirts and a pair of linen breeches and went back to the spare room. 

"I think these will fit." he said, presenting them to John. "Might be a little bit big, but probably best to save your nicer things for being out and about." John gave him a grateful smile. 

"Thank you, Mister Revere," he said, taking the clothing, "for...for everything." He stumbled over his words a bit, and Paul got the feeling that he was still overwhelmed. 

"You should probably call me Paul." he said, leaning against the doorjamb and folding his arms. John nodded in agreement. 

"Yes. I suppose that would be easier." he said, sounding uncertain. Paul managed to keep from grinning as his obvious discomfort. Man was so used to formality that he didn't have any idea how to get along without it. "And you may call me John."

"All right, John." Paul said. "You're welcome." John blinked a couple of times, as though not used to hearing his own name. Which, truthfully, he probably was not. Paul allowed himself a lopsided grin. "Don't worry, John." he said. "We'll get along fine. You're a good man."

"Thank you, Mis..Paul." John corrected himself in mid sentence. Paul chuckled. 

"Make yourself comfortable." he said, straightening up. "If you need anything, come get me; I'm just down the hall." 

"I shall." said John. He looked the tiniest bit less troubled. That was good. 

" 'Night John." he said, stepping into the hallway. 

"Good night Paul." John replied.

++++++++++

The next day dawned rainy. Paul didn't feel like going out in it if he didn't have to, and since he had plenty of work to do, he stayed in. He'd all ready lit a fire in the fireplace and heated a pot of porridge when he heard the sound of a door closing. That'd be John. 

"Morning." he said as the other man walked through the doorway. He was still in the old shirt and breeches, heeding Paul's advice about saving his better things for going out. 

"Good morning." John replied, looking around a bit nervously. With a suppressed smile, Paul gestured to the lone chair at the table.

"Have a seat." he said, giving the simmering mush in the pot a stir. "We'll have breakfast shortly." Paul gave the pot one more stir before getting up and fetching a pair of spoons, porringers, and a small jug of molasses, which immediately went to the table. He ladled both dishes full, and placed them next to the jug before pulling his chair back from the fire and seating himself across from John. The prospect of food seemed to have banished John's nerves; he had all ready gotten himself a spoonful and was blowing on it to take some of the heat out. Paul didn't bother-he liked his scalding. But he did add a generous glug of molasses. As he stirred it into his porridge, he noticed John considering it curiously; he nudged it towards him with a half smile. 

"It's not half bad." he said when John raised his eyebrows at him. "Adds a little sweetness to it, but not so much your teeth hurt." John shrugged and poured a bit into his porridge and took a bite. 

"That _is_ good." he said, not quite managing to hide his surprise. "You're right; it _is_ sweet...but only just." 

The rest of the meal passed with friendly chatter. John wanted to know about everything; he was like a curious (but well mannered) child with all of his questions. Paul didn't mind. Companionable conversation was preferable to uncomfortable silence. So when John asked if he might join him downstairs in his shop, Paul nodded his assent.

John's questions were no fewer in the shop than they had been in the kitchen. And, although they began with simple things like the pattern Paul was sketching out for a teapot, they soon progressed to Sam and his plans. 

"What is he even going to do?" John asked. "He has to know that he hasn't got near enough men to effect any real change." 

"Well, we're working on that." Paul said. "But these things take time, so there won't be a whole lot just yet." 

"I should hope not; I don't know where you'd put them." John said, looking around at the tools and tables crowding the room. Paul chuckled.

"Certainly not here." he said. "Too suspicious, not enough room. But that's taken care of too." He could not keep the frown from his face at that last sentence. Camilla _really_ didn't need to be involved in this. 

"You don't seem very happy with that prospect." John observed. Paul shook his head.

"I'm not." he said. John gave him a puzzled frown.

"Might I ask why?" he asked. Paul laid aside his pencil. 

"Do you know the Wolfe family?" Paul asked. John nodded.

"I do...or rather, I know _of_ them. They breed some very high quality horses." he said. Then he frowned, concentrating. "It's just the children now, isn't it? The brother and sister?"

"Brother died some months ago." Paul said. "I was good friends with him. And now Camilla's the only one left." Surprise registered on John's face at this revelation.

"Goodness." he said. "Is she looking after things by herself?" Paul nodded. 

"She lost three horses a while ago." he continued "Crown took 'em. Less to take care of, but they know she's out there, and that she's by herself." he said.

"And this worries you." John said, making it into a statement instead of a question. 

"Course it worries me." Paul said. "Camilla wants in on all this." 

"In...how?" John asked. 

"She's offered her farm as a meeting place." Paul said. "And she's said she'd be willing to shelter any men we might recruit." 

"I see." John said with a nod. "That explains your dislike of this plan, although I admit I can see the attractiveness of it, at least from Sam's perspective. It's close, but not too close. Just far enough out so to not get noticed."

"But she's all ready _been_ noticed." Paul said. "And that's the problem. What if we're out there and a patrol of Redcoats comes along?"

"I don't see why they should." John said patiently. "They have their hands full here, and she has nothing more they want."

"What if someone sees us out there and it gets back to Gage?" Paul countered

"You and the rest must simply take great care that someone does not." John replied. "You will have to be...discreet. Especially if there are a large number of you." He paused and then added, "In fact, I would recommend that you avoid travelling in large numbers if at all possible." Paul nodded. That actually made sense. Smaller groups were easier to hide, and if they were captured, the cause would only be down a few men. He smiled; he was taking advice from John, of all people. 

"How do you know so much about this kind of thing?" he asked. John smiled a touch ruefully. 

"I didn't become the best smuggler in the colonies by getting caught all the time." he said. Paul chuckled. 

"No, I suppose not." he said. He put his chin on fist, thinking. "I still don't like it being so close though." he said with a frown "It'll work for now, but once word gets out and we get more men..."

"It will become harder to remain unnoticed so close to Boston." John appeared to be reading his thoughts. "So...perhaps another place, further out?"

"I have someone in mind." Paul said with a nod. James Barrett, an old friend of his. He had actually been considering him for a while now. His larger farm was on the west side of Concord, so it was a fair far distance from Boston. They would be undisturbed there. But, being so far from Boston, it was too great a distance to travel in one stretch. They would need a stopover, someplace to stay for a night or three. Camilla's farm would be perfect for that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short one this time! Work has been a bear, but hopefully things will lighten up and I can get a substantial chapter out for September.

The mood in Paul's shop was somber. The original plan had been to ride out to Camilla's today. But Warren, having returned that morning from that direction (he'd set a man's broken hand), had noted that there were quite a few Redcoats out that way. They had let him pass without hassling him, but it was likely that would not be the case if they were all to go in force. They might be harassed, or worse-the Redcoats would let them by unmolested and mark where they were headed. Then the entire operation would be in danger. 

"Better to slip out in ones and twos." John said. "Set a day to be out there ahead of time, leave on separate days from different places."

"And how would any recruits find their way?" Sam asked. He was having more trouble thinking of John's ideas as good ones than anyone else. Not because the ideas were bad, but because they came from John. "Her farm is so far off the beaten track you wouldn't even look for it unless you knew it was back there."

"I thought that was the point." interjected Paul. "Back in the woods, away from prying eyes and sneaking Redcoats."

"We do the same thing with them." John continued patiently. "Pick a time and place to meet. Probably in Charlestown. Once everyone's assembled, go from there. Probably through the woods though." He smiled wryly. "Large band of men led by any known Rebel might attract attention."

"Only Charlestown?" Warren asked. "I know some men in Lexington that would likely join."

"Lexington too." John continued. "As long as someone's there to guide them."

"I suppose that can be arranged easily enough." Sam said. "Provided she still wants to help."

"Oh she does." Warren said with a grin. "I stopped by on my way back." Paul rolled his eyes. Camilla changing her mind was too much to hope for. And while he was slowly warming to the idea, he still hated placing her in harm's way. Especially since that harm came in the form of more Redcoats. 

"Did you tell her that there's more patrols? That it's all ready gotten more dangerous?" he asked Warren. His friend nodded. 

"I did. She said she still wasn't worried, and to hurry up with the recruits. Harvest season will be along shortly and things will start to pile up." 

"She doing all right?" Paul asked, feeling a little guilty. Really, he aught to be riding out there himself. But the goings on in Boston and the constant relaying of messages ate up all his spare time. 

"She's fine." Warren assured him. "A little run ragged perhaps, but fine."

"Run ragged?" Paul pressed. "How?"

"Too many minor things to do." Warren explained. "Overgrown garden, a sagging porch door, a crooked step...small things she's got to ignore so she can repair fence or mow hay or till corn." He shrugged. "I don't think they worry her greatly, but you can tell they're on her mind." 

"Well then, the sooner we get someone out there, the faster her mind will be eased." Sam said. 

"Yeah, well that might be kind of tough with all these extra troops throwing their weight around." Paul groused. "Wonder what they're after."

"Not what." Sam said, "Who." He glanced pointedly at John, who looked supremely uncomfortable. 

"Why would they want me?" he asked. "They've all ready gotten what they want. I should think they'd be quite happy to be rid of me."

"That's just it though." Sam said. "They're not rid of you. You've fallen in with us now. And they know you've got a grudge against them. They _also_ know, or suspect, that you'd be perfectly happy to help us get guns or powder or supplies. So they're concerned about you. They'd probably like to get you away from us. Lock you up someplace where you can't be of any use to anyone." 

"Well we can't let that happen." Paul said, casting a reassuring glance in John's direction. "You _are_ one of us now." 

"Not to mention we'd be broke." Sam added. Paul pursued his lips and sighed. Sam seemed determined to run John off, or make life difficult for him at the very least. John chose to ignore Sam's needling though.

"Well, what do you suggest I...we do?" he asked. "I suppose I can stay put here and not go out. That might work for a while, but I don't think it will work for very long. Someone is bound to find out." He shook his head. "I am loathe to put you in danger, gentlemen. Especially you Paul; you've been very kind." Suddenly, Sam sat up. For a second, Paul was afraid he'd taken offense. But his expression was that of someone who had just solved an enormous problem. 

"John?" Sam asked, and there was no mistaking the glee in his voice. "How do you feel about a trip to the country?"


	11. Chapter 11

"I admit it's not something I'd have thought of either, but it might work." Paul said to John. The two of them were upstairs in Paul's quarters, Sam and Warren having headed home earlier. "Camilla'd probably be happy to have your company." 

"Perhaps." John said, looking unsure, "But I wouldn't wish to be a burden. I've no idea how to...to..." he gestured helplessly. 

"I doubt she'll have you in the barn mucking out stalls." Paul said with a laugh. John looked the slightest bit relieved as he took a drink from his ale.

"I'm a little afraid it will seem very improper, my being out there." John said nervously. "I wouldn't anything to reflect badly upon her." 

"Don't worry about it." Paul said, taking a pull from his own pint. "If she's not going to worry about being found out by the Crown, she's not going to worry about being found out by anyone else." John nodded, conceding the point. 

"Is she..." he began haltingly after a moment. Paul got the feeling he was still unused to normal, everyday banter. "Is she really so fearless?" 

"She is." Paul said with a grin. "I remember one time, years ago, I saw her do the most spectacular bit of driving. Some poor drunk bastard had fallen on his ass in the middle of the street right in front of her. She was coming at a pretty good clip so there was no way he was going to be able to get out of the way in time. But Camilla, she hauled that team to the left and got around him. Squeezed right between him and the buildings, didn't slow down, didn't even flinch. By the time I got out there to help him, she'd all ready turned off into an alley, got down, and was coming up the street. She almost beat me to him. But we picked Sam up out of the mud and got him over out of the way..."

"SAM?" John's voice was equal parts glee and incredulity. "SAM was the drunk?" Paul raised an eyebrow at him and John chuckled. "You're right, that's not surprising." 

"No, it isn't." Paul agreed. "And really, Camilla's nerve shouldn't have been either. I've known her family for a long time and she's always been like that."

"Good with horses?" John prompted. Paul shook his head. 

"That's just part of it." he said. "She's always been...unshakable. Unflappable. I suppose part of that comes from growing up on a horse farm and having to keep up with an older brother."

"And the other part?" encouraged John. Paul had to pause and think about that for a minute. What *did* make Camilla the way she was? He could remember another instance of horsemanship, also years ago, but not so distant as the wagon incident.  
*  
She'd met him at the road, having just returned from selling eggs. She'd grinned at him and said "race you." by way of greeting. He'd accepted, and promptly lost. Her father had laughed as she'd galloped into the barnyard, hair and skirts streaming behind her. 

"What have I told you about riding at breakneck speed through the forest?" he admonished her.

"To make sure I watch closely for low hanging branches, which I was." she replied. "I only sat up when I cleared the trees." Her father had nodded in approval, patted her horse on the neck and sent her off to unsaddle him before greeting Paul.   
*  
"I guess the other part is just Camilla being herself." he finally said, smiling fondly at the memory.


	12. Chapter 12

John was...uncomfortable...on horseback to say the least. Oh he could ride well enough, but it wasn't something he was fond of doing. Paul had graciously loaned him his horse Shadow because, of the two he was currently possessed of, Shadow was the mellow one. John glanced over at his companion, sitting astride a horse he called Fleetfoot. Fleetfoot belonged to Camilla, with whom John would be staying for the foreseeable future. Paul had spoken glowingly of her, citing her wonderful cooking, her wit, her intelligence and many other qualities. So John had no doubt he would be in fine company. But the prospect of the best company in the world could not change the fact that he was outdoors and he was MISERABLE. The summer heat was stifling, there were bugs EVERYWHERE, branches kept slapping him in the face, and he was quite sure his saddle was too small. 

"Doing all right John?" Sam called back to him from up ahead. There was more than a hint of mockery in his voice. 

"I am well, Mister Adams, thank you." John replied evenly. He would NOT give him the satisfaction of voicing his discomfort. He really wished he knew WHY Sam insisted on still being petty-he was getting what he wanted, wasn't he? John would be funding this venture, purchasing supplies and any other necessaries Sam called for. And yet the man STILL bullied him: smirking at his awkwardness, saying as little to him as possible, cutting him down with a biting comment. John wasn't sure why Sam's opinion of him mattered-he was just a loudmouth drunk-but it did. Something deep inside John wanted Sam to look at him and smile. But in the meantime, he would settle for him not sneering. 

The ride through the woods was mercifully short. John straightened in the saddle as soon as he cleared the treeline. Camilla's farm was nothing grand-just a house and a barn and a few outbuildings. He noticed Kelly on the near side of the barn, repairing a fence and Warren, sleeves rolled past his elbows and divested of waistcoat, splitting firewood. John suppressed a small shudder. He WOULD try his hand at labor, if asked, but he rather doubted he would be any good at it. 

"Camilla says to have you put them in the east side here." Kelly said, wiping his hands on his shirt as he walked up to them. "All ready filled the water trough and just finishing up the gate." 

"All right." said Sam, stripping the gear off his horse. John followed suit, throwing the saddle over a low rail and carefully tidying the straps and stirrups. "So, has there been any trouble?"

"None." said Kelly. "Its like the end of the world out here. Nobody bothers us." The big Irishman grinned. "It's perfect." 

"We'll see." Paul interjected. "My bet is that there'll be Redcoats out here sometime. Just a matter of when." 

"Hopefully not for a long while." said Sam, leading the way out of the barn across the barnyard. "And hopefully not too many."

"Hopefully dumb enough to not look to hard." Paul muttered as they went up the steps of the porch.

"That's very likely." replied Sam, opening the door and stepping inside "Have you ever met a smart Redcoat?"

"No." said Paul, following him. "But there's a first time for everything."

"Are you still arguing about that?" a strident voice came from the kitchen as John stepped over the threshold and shut the door. He turned, looking for its owner. "Smart or not, I don't think they'll be looking very hard. Someone like me isn't worth their time." A woman strode into the room from the kitchen. She was...somewhat plain, if John was honest. Average of height, perhaps a little plump of build. The muscles in her arms rolled as she dried her hands on a towel and threw it over her shoulder. Outside work had doubtless made her strong then. Her hair and eyes were dark, but her face lit up when she grinned at them. "Who's your friend?" she asked, indicating John with a nod. 

"Camilla, this is John Hancock." Paul made the introduction, which John was thankful for. Sam would have doubtless said something scathing. "He needs somewhere to stay for a while." Camilla turned her gaze on John, her smile less teeth and more warmth. 

"John, you're welcome here anytime you like for as long as you need." John returned her smile and made an elegant bow. 

"You have my humble thanks madam; you are most generous." he said. Camilla blinked, then turned to Sam with a grin. 

"Manners Sam; you could learn something from this man." she said teasingly. Sam looked like he wanted to retort, but Paul's guffaw cut him off. 

"As if you've any room to talk." Sam groused at the shorter man. Paul shook his head. 

"I'm just a smith though." replied Paul. "I don't need manners; I swing hammers all day." Sam grumbled something else and Paul just shook his head before turning back to Camilla. "So, there are three more of us. What would you like us to do?"

"Well, the corn patch could use a good hoeing, there's a loose board on the chicken coop that needs fixed before some fox discovers it, there's some barrels on the back porch that need sealing and I don't doubt Joseph would appreciate someone to help stack that wood." John swallowed his trepidation. He could possibly hoe the corn patch-he had gardened in the past as a hobby. 

"Sounds like we got here just in time." Sam remarked, turning to go back outside, Paul following in his wake. John had just turned to follow them, but Camilla called to him. 

"John?" she asked before he could get outside. "I hate to impose on a guest, but would you mind staying here and helping me fix dinner? I've got a great deal cooking and I'm a little afraid I cannot keep an eye on all of it myself." Surprised, John blinked for a second before recovering.

"I would be happy to assist in any way I can." he said. Camilla smiled. 

"Wonderful." she said, beckoning him into the kitchen.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two month hiatus! Real Life kicked my ass in December (holidays) and January (family illness) but I think I'm on track again. Thanks for sticking it out with me. :D

Camilla's kitchen was small and tidy, though not nearly as well appointed as John's own. Nearly one entire wall was devoted to a fireplace. It currently housed a merrily blazing fire, over which were suspended various pots and kettles. More utensils hung on the walls. Various herbs and dried vegetables hung from the exposed ceiling beams. There were windows along the outside wall-two close together nearest him and one further down near the fireplace. Camilla was at the far one chopping vegetables on a well made but well used table. 

"I'm afraid I only know a little about cooking." he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook. Looking up with a smile, Camilla laid aside her knife and came over to him. 

"That's all right." she said. "I don't expect that you do. But you've a pair of eyes, so you can see if a pot of water is beginning to boil or if one of my sauces is beginning to scorch. And I'm quite sure your nose works as well so you can tell me if something is burning."

"Is....there MUST be more to it than that." John said as she steered him over to the near window. In front of it stood a table, and on the table there was a large wooden bowl, a cutting board, a knife and several heads of cabbage. 

"Oh there certainly is, but I won't be having you do anything too difficult just yet." Camilla said with a nod. "For right now I'll just have you help me by doing small tasks." She gestured to the cabbages. "Just chop these into small bits," She held up a hand, thumb and forefinger maybe two fingerspan apart. "and throw them into the bowl." 

"Erhm...." John began helplessly. He had no idea where to begin. Was there a particular way to go about this sort of thing? 

"Cut one in half." Camilla picked up the knife and selected a cabbage to demonstrate with. A single stroke and the head lay in two pieces. "now cut those halves in half." She flipped the pieces onto their flat sides and sliced through each of them. "Now, do you see this white bit here on the bottom?" she gave the part in question a poke with the point of the knife. "That's the stem core. Its bitter and tough and not good for eating so it needs chopped off and thrown into that old pot over there." she pointed at a badly dented soup pot. "I take them out in the evening and give them to the horses." she said. 

"But you just said they weren't good for eating." John said, mildly confused. Camilla grinned. 

"They're not, for us. But horses aren't nearly as discriminating about food." she said. John nodded and smiled back in agreement. 

"All right then." he said. Camilla handed him the knife, patted his arm and then went back to her own table. John looked at the three remaining cabbage quarters with stems, picked one up and went to work.

++++++++++ 

As it turned out, preparing and cooking food was not the complicated alchemy that John had always thought it to be. While it involved paying attention to more than one thing at a time and there was a fair amount of work involved, Camilla was generous and precise with her instructions and her patience knew no bounds. By the time Kelly wandered in for a drink, Camilla was putting the finishing touches on a savory smelling gravy and John was fishing boiled potatoes from a large pot into a serving bowl. 

"Looks good!" the big man said, peering over John's shoulder. Caught flat footed, John nearly forgot to say thank you. Kelly grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly causing John to drop the wooden spoon he was using. But he managed to hang onto it and smile back at Kelly at the same time. He'd never been given such a hearty compliment for something so simple. 

"Kelly would you mind fetching everyone else in for dinner when you're done?" Camilla asked as she poured the gravy into a short, stumpy little pitcher. The Irishman finished off his tankard of cider with a nod. 

"Aye." he said, setting it aside. "Might still be a bit though. I think Warren's in the middle of hacking up a tree and he'll probably want to finish." 

"Well tell him to hurry before it gets cold." Camilla replied. Kelly grinned. 

"I'll drag him in by his ears if I have to." he declared. Camilla waved him away with a laugh. Soon after that, the others began to trickle in. Amos stuck his head in to say hello and got roped into helping set the table. Warren and Kelly followed soon after and Camilla directed them to fetch extra chairs. Sam and Paul were last, just barely in time to be handed the last of the dishes. 

"Sit down and enjoy." Camilla said, pulling out a chair. Everyone followed suit, taking seats around the table and filling their plates. 

"Smells great." declared Paul, setting down a serving bowl.

"I can take only partial credit." Camilla said. "John helped a great deal." Sam, well into his meal, stopped in mid-forkful.

"John?" he said incredulously. "John helped cook?"

"He did indeed." Camilla declared. John had to summon all his willpower to stifle his grin at Sam's flabbergasted expression. 

"Nothing's on fire, so he's all ready a better cook than Sam." Kelly interjected. Sam shot a glare at the grinning Irishman.

"It wasn't on fire." he said defensively.

"Sure enough smoking quite a bit though." Kelly shot back. Turning his gaze in John's direction, he shook his head in mock disappointment. "Poor lad can't even boil a kettle of water."

"I just got distracted." Sam muttered. 

"And fell asleep." Paul spoke up around a mouthful of potatoes. "If I hadn't stopped by you'd have had the chimney on fire." Sam rolled his eyes.

"As if you can cook any better." he retorted. 

"Actually," John made sure he swallowed his mouthful before speaking, "Mister Revere makes a very fine porridge."

"See?" Paul said, gesturing at John with a grin. "The good cook says I also cook good." Paul grinned at him and this time John allowed himself to smile. Perhaps there was a chance he could fit in after all.


	14. Chapter 14

It was later afternoon and the sun was beginning to throw long shadows through the trees outside the farmhouse. John sat in a sturdy but comfortable chair at a small table by a window. Camilla was across from him, busily darning a sock. There was a great deal he wished to ask her, but he did not wish to break her concentration. So he sat in mild silence and looked at his surroundings. 

The room they were in was not particularly grand or lavish by his standards. The furnishings were spare, but well made. The desk under the window on the east wall was timeworn with ink stains and various other marks. But there was not a loose joint or wobbly drawer to be found. The chairs, the long table on the other far wall, the shelves, all the rest of the furnishings were the same. Used and lived in, but well constructed and solid. The rest of the house and its contents had revealed itself to be likewise. The room he had been given for his use had her brother's, she had said. He had been the recordkeeper and so had kept his own desk that she thought might prove to John's liking. It was indeed; John had nodded and thanked her for her foresight. Besides the aforementioned desk, there was a bed, table and chair, and a rather tall bookcase full of parchments and journals. Everything was sturdy, but not heavy or ugly. Serviceable and surprisingly elegant in a spartan kind of way. 

"I noticed you didn't have a lot to say during our little gathering." Camilla's voice startled him from his perusing. She'd laid her needlework aside and had folded her hands on the table. 

"There isn't a great deal new that I could have presented." he said. Which was true...but not necessarily the reason he'd kept quiet. Mostly he didn't want to deal with Sam's arguing. So he'd let Paul remind Sam about slipping out of Boston in ones or twos to Charlestown or Lexington and taking the larger group out from there. Sam had nodded in agreement.

++

"How're we going to know who's who?" Kelly had asked. "I know we've got the coins, but I don't think we can get them to everyone." That issue had stumped everyone for a little while until Warren had hit upon a solution.

"Make up a pass phrase." he'd suggested. "Something only those of us on the inside would know." That had prompted a whole slew of ideas. Sam had wanted something scathing about the Crown and the King, but was quickly shot down. 

"The idea is to NOT attract attention Sam." Paul had said. Kelly had suggested a few verses of a drinking song, but it was so commonly known that they could very well end up with the wrong people. The afternoon wore on. One idea after another was rejected for this or that reason. "Pity we can't just ask them if they'd like some shit tea." Paul had joked halfheartedly after a while. Warren had stared at him as the rest of the table guffawed. 

"That...might work." he'd said. Paul had blinked at that, confused. "We'll have to do it the other way 'round though." Warren had added. "We'll need a guide in town on the appointed day. They'll have to be told who to look for and where. Once they've found you, they'll ask you about finding a place to stay and a cup of tea."

"That...sounds very ordinary Warren." Kelly had said. John had suspected he was still a little disappointed at not being able to teach his favorite tavern music to their recruits. 

"The first part of it is." Warren had replied with a nod. "BUT....and this is important....you will then ask THEM what kind of tea they are drinking."

"SHIT TEA." Paul had said gleefully. "If they say shit tea they're one of us...if they ask for peppermint or sage or something they're not."

"Exactly." said Warren. "Its a common enough question that it won't raise suspicion, but the answer will be the key." The idea, though rather ludicrous sounding, had been agreed upon.  


++

"You look as though you might be thinking of something you perhaps *should* have brought up." Camilla's teasing voice pulled him from his musing. John looked from the window he'd been staring out of; she *was* teasing, if the smile on her face was anything to judge by.

"No, no, I am merely contemplating my demise once you discover how dreadful of a cook I really am." he said with a smile. Camilla shook her head.

"You may think yourself a terrible cook, but you aren't. And even if you are, I shall turn you into at least a passable one." she said. "But I'm not worried. You've proven yourself very willing to take instruction. You've an excellent memory and your eye for detail is probably better than mine." John felt him blush slightly. He'd only helped cook but a little and she was all ready lavishing praise on him. "We'll be baking bread tomorrow." she continued. "So we'll need to rise early and have everything hot. My plan is to have you help me prepare the loaves and then have you look after baking them while I'm outside." John's stomach swooped. He didn't have the faintest idea how to bake bread. It was always brought to him sliced with butter and jam. His trepidation must have shown on his face because she leaned across the table and patted his folded hands. "Don't worry." she told him. "It isn't as difficult as you think. I'm quite sure you have dealt with much harder tasks."

"Perhaps." he said, trying for a smile and mostly succeeding. "But I haven't had to eat the results if I should fail."

"You won't fail." Camilla reassured him. "I'll be just outside if you should have questions or need help."

"I hope you're prepared to be running back and forth a lot." John said. He didn't know WHY he was so fretful. It was the possibility of failure, he supposed. Even at the smallest thing, it scared him. He only wanted to prove his worth. And if he couldn't manage something as simple as cooking or baking....then how in the world could he handle something like revolution?

"I am." Camilla said. "but you needn't worry. Truly. I promise to explain everything in detail tomorrow." She gave his hands a squeeze before picking up her darning and going back to work. John's heart warmed in his chest. Camilla didn't care about his money or his business associations. She cared about him. She was patient, kind, and had no desire to judge. Leaning back in his chair, John allowed himself to hope. He was far from prepared. He had very little idea of what he was getting into. But he wouldn't be going it alone.


	15. Chapter 15

"Its quite all right John. We're safe." Camilla said, not even looking up from her knitting. John didn't exactly *feel* safe. There was a great storm raging. Rain lashed the window panes, lightning threw strange shadows onto the walls, and thunder growled and boomed, rattling the shelves. But John did his best to be stoic and endure the tempest with a brave face. He turned back to the list he was making. Camilla was going to go into Boston in a few days and she wanted to know the things he needed. John smiled despite the snarling gale outside. He'd only been here a short time, but the trust she was placing in him gave him an odd sense of pride. He *was* only doing menial tasks like housework and cooking and gardening. But he'd never done them before. So he was *learning* to do them, and he was learning WELL. He could now cook a decent meal, he could bake various breads, the vegetable garden was free of weeds and thriving and the farmhouse was tidy. Camilla did the hard labor of repairing various things, mowing the meadows for hay, gathering firewood and doubtless many other things he didn't observe during the day. When she came in to check on things or to grab a drink, she was often sweaty and disheveled. John always felt a small pang of guilt that he wasn't out THERE helping her. But she always reassured him that he was doing a great deal right where he was; that it was a great weight off her mind to have someone minding things here, taking care of the small details. And John WAS good at the small details. The acumen that he had gained from years of smuggling was serving him surprisingly well here.

A particularly loud crash of thunder yanked him from his thoughts, causing him to flinch in surprise. Even Camilla looked up from her needles. 

"Are we...are we still quite safe?" he asked, managing to keep the quiver from his voice. Camilla nodded. 

"I've lived in this house all my life and not once has it been damaged by storm." she said. "But the chicken coop, the barn, the outbuildings...there may be quite a bit of work to do tomorrow." She looked over at John and offered him a grin. "Its a good thing Sam and the rest of them are planning on coming out." She frowned in concentration. "I don't remember how many Kelly said would be here."

"Well, himself, Sam, Joseph, Amos, Paul and I believe he said they were bringing some new men. A couple friends of his from further west. Maynard was the town I think he mentioned. He said they could probably recruit men from out there as well."

"Are they planning on bringing people from Maynard all the way here?" she asked in surprise. John opened his mouth to answer but thunder interrupted him.   
"I don't believe so." he said once he could be heard. "From what I understand, Paul has a friend west of Concord. One Colonel James Barrett." Camilla shook her head, clearly not recognizing the name. "Well, I think the plan is to have men from Boston stay here for a night or two or three, and then continue on to his farm. But I'm not sure, so you should probably ask." Camilla frowned. 

"We may have to come up with an alternate route here. People will become curious at so many turning off the road at the same place." she said.

"That does sound like a good plan, and I'm sure that Sam and the rest could find their way...but what about men that aren't familiar with these woods?" John asked. Camilla pursued her lips in thought. 

"Well, there's certainly landmarks enough." she said. "Once they get across the creek its barely half a mile to the fence that marks the east side of the property. As long as they stay on the south side of the ford they'll be all right."

"Ford?" John asked. 

"Shallow spot where the creek widens and the water slows down. Most of the time you can walk across it, unless its at flood. There's a big lightning struck pine close by, so its easy to find." she explained. "I'll make sure at least one of them knows how to find it."

"Will it be flooded tomorrow?" John asked glancing out the dark window. He couldn't see outside, but he knew from the noise that the rain had to be coming down in sheets. 

"Likely some. It may have gone back down by the time we get to it though." Thunder rumbled again ominously. "Unless its still raining." 

"Still raining." John repeated. Storms could last for quite a while, this he knew. But always before, he'd been secure in his own home with his own business to occupy his time. Here he was...not. 

"Don't worry." Camilla reassured him yet again. "I promise we will not be chasing fish out of my barnyard."


	16. Chapter 16

Paul set the axe he was swinging down for a moment and leaned on it to catch his breath. He was lopping branches off downed trees so Camilla could hitch her team to them and drag them out of the way. Currently, she was unhooking the tug chains from a large log so Kelly and two of his friends from Medford could manhandle it onto blocks to be further sawed up. He allowed himself a smile. 

She could have easily stayed indoors; there were certainly enough of them to handle the labor and he himself could drive a team decently enough. But no, she had been buckling the harness onto Foxfire and Redwing when he and Warren had rode in. They'd moved some of the smaller debris, but there were three large trees that would take more muscle than what the three of them could muster. Sam had rode up some time later, and Kelly with his friends not long after that. And now things were moving along. They were in the process of taking apart one tree and would get to the other two in the afternoon. He was thankful there hadn't been damage to any of the buildings. 

"Lost in thought?" Kelly's voice intruded upon his musings. "Should I send a search party?" Paul looked over at him and smiled.

"Just giving my back a rest." Paul said. Kelly cocked an eyebrow.

"And taking in some scenery while doing so." he said with a smirk. Paul blinked at him, confused. "I notice you were admiring our landlady." Kelly clarified. The insinuation clicked and Paul shook his head with a laugh. No. Oh noooo, no not at all. 

"I'm admiring her skill with a team, nothing more." he said. Now it was Kelly's turn to shake his head, reproach written on his face .

"She's just standing there talking to Francis and Kevin. She's not *doing* anything." he pointed out. His smirk widened into a full fledged grin. "You fancy her, don't you."

"I don't either." Paul argued, fighting to keep from blushing. 

"No no, its all right. You two are a good match." Kelly declared. "She handles your bullshit pretty well."

"We're not *any* kind of match." Paul said. 

"Why not?" Kelly questioned. There was still laughter in the man's voice, but his eyes held genuine curiosity. Paul sighed. Kelly wasn't going to leave this alone without some kind of answer. 

"Because its too dangerous?" he said, stating it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She's all ready putting a lot on the line by sheltering John and letting us meet out here. I'm not about to put her at more risk by tying her closer to any of this."

"I see." Kelly said, even though his tone of voice clearly stated that he thought this line of reasoning was weak. "But I don't really think the Crown is going to be all that interested if the two of you steal a few kisses here and there."

"We're *not* going to steal kisses!" Paul snapped indignantly. "I just told you that!"

"You told me it was dangerous." Kelly said, mirth sparkling in his eyes. "But you did *not* tell me you don't have feelings." 

Paul's reply was to roll his eyes and shove at him. Kelly laughed and shoved back, and the two of them batted at one another for a few moments before Kelly left off and went back to work. Paul picked up his axe and did the same, but Kelly's words still hung in his mind. 

If he was honest with himself, Paul did have....feelings...for Camilla. His heart warmed every time she smiled at him and he found himself thinking of her often. Not idle, lustful thoughts (although those *did* arise sometimes) but wondering how she fared when he wasn't around. How she would smile or perhaps shake her head at something. Curious if her shoulders ached at night after a long day's work. Once in a while wondering what she might think of him. But, he had meant what he'd told Kelly. It was too dangerous. If word were to somehow get out that they were together, it would be far too easy for Gage or his lapdog Pitcairn to come out here and threaten her. Or worse. Paul couldn't bear to have that happen. He did not want to have to choose between someone he cared for deeply and the cause that meant so much to him. Better to lock his heart and his feelings away. To admire her from afar and do his best to protect her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! Oh goodness I'm sorry its been so long. I didn't forget about this fic I promise. But between the muses going on vacation and/or getting distracted and general real life busy-ness its been tough to write properly. BUT...I have a short chapter for you. Short mostly because it takes place in John's head. BUT I shall endeavor to hold to my end-of-the-month posting from now on. Thanks for sticking with me this far!

John took a moment to step away from food preparation to take stock of things. Camilla /was/ just outside if he needed help, but he thought he might have things under control. This would be the first large meal he would prepare himself, and she had absolute faith in him. They'd discussed ideas early that morning before she'd gone outside. She'd offered suggestions and given a few instructions, but most of it was left up to him. If he was completely honest with himself, he might have gone a little more...overboard...than necessary, but he wanted to prove his worth. He wanted to make her proud. And he wanted to shut up Sam Adams. So he made sure the meat was cooked to perfection: herbed with rosemary and roasting slowly in its own juices. The vegetables would come later: green beans, carrots, sweet potatoes. They'd be seasoned and boiled until tender, but he didn't dare start them now for fear of cooking them to mush. The bread was baking on the hearth-lovely round loaves of grand size and substantial weight. And for dessert, apple tarts. 

Nodding in a satisfied manner, John turned to look out the window and watch the goings on. Camilla was driving her team back across the barnyard to hitch to a tree that Paul and Kelly were finishing up. He smiled. She was an excellent driver and clearly not afraid of work. How could she be, having to run the entire farm by herself? Even as he watched, she backed Redwing and Foxfire up to the log and began fastening chains before Paul or Kelly could get to them. Only when one of the horses (Foxfire? He hadn't learned to tell them apart yet.) started acting up did she let Paul have the chains and go to stand at the horse's head. And...oh /goodness/ he couldn't be sure from this distance, but it looked like she might be looking at Paul's backside as he bent to finish chaining that log. John laughed out loud and moved to the sitting room to better see things. Oh /yes/ she was definitely paying attention to Paul, and since his posterior was the only part of him readily visible, that was clearly what she was paying attention to. John clapped his hands with glee. Oh she /fancied/ Paul! How wonderful! 

Grinning to himself, he went back into the kitchen to check the bread-the loaves were just turning golden brown so he moved them from the heat to cool. Camilla and Paul...not actually a bad idea if he stopped and thought about it. Of course, it would only work if Paul felt the same way. John was unsure of that, but such a thing could be remedied by more observation. Camilla would bear watching as well. If he was going to go to the trouble of playing matchmaker (and he most certainly was) he would want to be absolutely sure of their feelings for one another. And he would need to wait for an opportune moment to present itself to broach the topic with Camilla. He rather doubted she would appreciate being confronted about it out of the blue. And as for Paul...well, perhaps he could enlist someone to help. Mister Kelly possibly. Yes. If there was one person that would know the inner workings of Paul's mind, it would be him. Aside from Sam. John shook his head. He was quite sure that Sam would have no time for this kind of thing. He was far too focused on his own plans. So, John would enlist Kelly as his...informant. He was a good friend of Paul's, and from what John understood, he had been for a long time. It was entirely possible that Kelly could even influence Paul. Which meant that he could possibly persuade the smith to act upon his possible feelings. Provided, of course, that the Irishman was willing. 

Yes. John nodded, satisfied with his plan for now. Anything beyond this would depend on the decisions of others. With this in mind, he turned his focus back to preparing the day's meal. There was more at stake now than just his own pride. He couldn't let Camilla's faith be misplaced and have her look foolish. Not with Paul eating with them. Good thing he was good at details.


End file.
